Death Comes by Amphora: A Mystery Novel of Ancient Athens

by Roger Hudson

  “Then they started yelling and shouting in there. 'The High City!' 'No, no, they can surround us there, like they did with Kylon back in the old days!'"

  Lampon chipped in, "One of them said, 'The Council House and the main city gates, that'd frighten them.'"

  Stephanos came back, putting on an educated accent, "'And the arsenal at Munychia, we'll need that.'"

  Lampon did the same and added the stutter Lysanias remembered well, "'B-but w-we haven't g-got enough m-men for all that.'"

  Then Stephanos, booming in a good imitation of Ariston's deep voice, "'Quiet all of you, I'm the general here.'"

  They all laughed. Stephanos went on, serious again. "Those are just the bits we heard. They got quieter after that. Then, a bit later, there was a cheer and someone threw the doors open."

  "Doesn't make sense to me," Lysanias said. "What do you make of it?"

  "Well, I don't think they're planning the route of a religious procession. Most likely they think they can seize power and force us back under rich man’s rule. Well, two can play at that game. Our boys'll put guards on the main buildings and double our protection of Ephialtes and the other leaders. These plotters realise they haven’t enough men to grab control of everything. Not till those troops get back from Sparta anyway. That's good news. Have to tell Perikles. He’ll think of a way to stop them."

  "You make it sound as though you've been expecting it."

  "Well ... Perikles has, and some of the other leaders but Ephialtes won't listen. 'We've got the people with us,' he says. 'No reactionary force can stop the march of true democracy now. The people won't allow it.' Well, maybe they won't but it's best to be prepared. That's what Perikles says. Right, let's go!"

  "Where?"

  "To warn Perikles."

  “What about getting me work in the shipyard?"

  "You selfish oaf, this is about whether we keep democracy or not. Not about where you work.”

  "It's just that you said ...”

  "Tomorrow not today. But I can show you where to go. That do?"

  Lysanias nodded. His memory had flashed back to the gossip he had overheard in the barber's shop. He told Stephanos how it had suddenly gone silent, when the master barber had asked why they didn’t do something about Ephialtes, if they felt he was so terrible. “As though they had been planning just that. One of this lot was there, the one with the plaited hairstyle, I'd swear it. And you say there was one with stutter.”

  "What! And you didn't tell me!" Stephanos looked really annoyed and Lysanias felt embarrassed and guilty.

  "Cheer up! We're not beaten yet. All the more reason to tell Perikles.”

  Stephanos knew that the radical leaders were at a meeting in Peiraeos, so they set off to run there, leaving Lampon to rest in the heat of the day and make excuses if they were late back.

  CHAPTER 10

  This is silly, Philia thought. The ideal opportunity to search that chest in Otanes' room and Sindron is eating with Glykera and the others in the kitchen and I can't tell him. She'd heard snoring from Makaria's room; they were both still in there.

  Perhaps he found Makaria's affair as embarrassing as Philia did. How could she do that? With a slave! Philia stopped the thought process before she became too intrigued about who had seduced whom.

  Over lunch in the inner courtyard, playing with the dog, she decided she would have to trust Nubis. With difficulty she persuaded her to join the search.

  "But what if we're caught?” Nubis's tone was plaintive. She was clearly worried.

  So was Philia. "Lysanias will protect us." Philia sounded more confident than she felt. Let's hope Makaria and Otanes don’t suddenly feel hungry and come out, Philia prayed to herself.

  Otanes' room was in the male slaves' quarters directly off the inner courtyard. The door opened easily, and Philia posted Nubis by the door to keep watch. She found the chest where Sindron had described it, and still unlocked, but the lid was very heavy. She had to call Nubis over to help lift it. Then she sent her back to the door. There were so many scrolls, where would she start? Philia lifted out one at random, grubby from frequent handling. She didn't have to unroll it far to see it was the basic household accounts, purchases of food and household items. She put it back as she had found it.

  The second one proved to be the record of sponsorship payments to artists and athletes. She whistled through her teeth at the amounts. Nubis was at her shoulder. "What is it? What have you found?"

  Philia explained. Then she realised no one was on lookout, and persuaded Nubis to return to her post. Philia was getting annoyed and increasingly nervous. Her fingers shook as she unrolled the next scroll.

  "Someone's coming," hissed Nubis. "I'm going."

  Startled, Philia realised her position. She couldn't run. She had to get the scroll back and the chest closed to look normal. What could she do? Her hands fluttered as she tried to re-tie the scroll.

  "Ha! I had you frightened then, didn't I?"

  "You little…!" Relieved, Philia joined in Nubis' laughter, though her hands were still shaking and her heart beating madly. "Is it really safe?"

  "Yes, no one about. But hurry. I don't like this."

  Philia felt like putting the scrolls away and leaving. It wasn't worth this level of constant fright. She nerved herself and unrolled the scroll again. It was the trading account from the workroom, woven material, sold to that man with the donkey who calls. All the sums of money he'd paid. Monthly totals, then yearly totals.

  "What's this on the wall?" Nubis away from her watching post again. Annoyed, Philia turned to scold her.

  Nubis had lifted a parchment with a drawing of some Persian god, attached to a rod and hanging by a thong from a nail in the wall.

  "Just some old… Hey, what’s that on the back?

  It was another parchment but with clear, bold lettering in Greek. Nubis held it up while Philia spelled out the wording for herself. Nubis peeped round the side. "What’s it say?"

  It seemed to be a contract, or no, a lease for the foundry in Armourer’s Alley, site and controlling interest in the business, down to Otanes. She knew slaves and foreigners couldn't own property but could they lease it? Philia didn’t know. There, that was the purchase price, for the lease and the rent near the bottom. Where had Otanes found all that money?

  They heard the sound of sandaled footsteps.

  "Nubis, I told you to look out!"

  Philia's heart raced. She knew it must be too late. They managed to put the parchment back on the wall, then had to turn it the right way round.

  The footsteps had stopped. Whoever it was must have heard them. Philia turned to put the scroll back in the chest, her hands shaking.

  "It's only Sindron." Nubis voice was squeaky.

  Sindron fell into the conspiracy immediately, though it bothered him that Nubis was involved. He still wasn’t sure she could be trusted, but he congratulated them both on their initiative. From the sums involved and the use they had been put to, he could see now that Otanes really did have things to hide, but it didn’t seem to have anything to do with Klereides' murder. A degree of embezzlement maybe, but no more. Then Sindron suddenly felt his own guilt. Tarred with the same brush.

  "I can hear Otanes's voice in the kitchen," squeaked Nubis. "I’m going."

  No trick this time. She really had gone, her feet pattering hurriedly down the passage. Sindron confidently re-rolled and tied the scroll.

  "My room is nearby," he said. "Wait in there, till you're sure it's clear." He pointed to the doorway to his room, and was gone as well.

  What a pokey little room, Philia thought. I’m glad I'm not a slave. Only a rug hanging to close the doorway. Shared too, two beds. She sat on one of the beds. She would be missed soon if she didn’t reappear in the front of the house. At least her hands were steady again.

  She looked out. No-one there. She walked casually along the passage towards the yard, as though she was doing nothing unusual. She would be back in the yard soon and could p
retend she had been sitting there all along.

  "Hello, young lady, we’ve been looking for you!" It was Makaria in all her fury. "Where do you think you've been?"

  This time Philia was ready. She had worked out her story. "You never showed me the slave quarters. I thought I'd explore."

  The old woman was clearly startled at this. "That's the male slaves' area. Respectable young women don't go in there."

  "Oh, don't they?" Philia asked innocently. "I won't go again. Just boring little rooms." She whispered confidingly, "Don’t have many personal ornaments and things, do they?"

  "No, of course not! They're slaves."

  It had worked. She had caught the old woman up in her tale and made it plausible.

  "I’ll get back to the shrines. One more to do." Philia strolled off nonchalantly, leaving a frowning and thoughtful Makaria.

  "If you want to see more of the house, you have only to ask,” Makaria called after her. "I'll be pleased to show you around."

  Philia turned her head back. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of disturbing you, mother-in-law, not when you're not feeling well and need to … ah … rest." Despite Philia's efforts to control her expression, Makaria reacted to the tinge of sarcasm. Good, thought Philia. Let her wonder if I know. Let her worry for once!

  ***

  Lysanias and Stephanos leaned against a tree for a moment, grinning at one another and getting their breath back after the long run from the city. In the space in front of the shrine of Hephaistos at Peiraeos, a stumpy, deep-voiced man with a massively-muscled torso was haranguing a crowd of workers on the dangers of warmongers like Kimon and the benefits of peace, and advocating the use of public money to create work for citizens. Stephanos explained that these workers, many of them from the shipyards, were 'Brothers of Kedalion', named after the mythical helper of Hephaistos, who led prayers to the god in their workplace every morning. They would go back to rouse their fellow workers into attending the Assembly meeting and voting to ostracise Kimon.

  "You are all citizens. You are all entitled to a share of this wealth, not just the noble families." Arkhestratos, who had been chief trainer of rowers during the war, was now champion of their interests, Stephanos whispered.

  Lysanias was reluctant to accompany Stephanos inside the shrine building to the meeting of the party leaders, fearful that Perikles might recognise him, but Stephanos insisted that he needed Lysanias to back him up.

  After a word from Stephanos, the muscular workers standing guard at the door looked alarmed and ushered them inside. Perikles was speaking, stressing the urgency of getting rid of Kimon if they wanted to avoid further efforts to reverse the reforms.

  As Lysanias' eyes adjusted from the sunshine outside, he could make out Perikles and Ephialtes. "That's General Myronides, the serious-looking one with the grey temples," Stephanos murmured. "Most senior general after Kimon, good we've got him on our side. That’s Aeschylos, the playwright, and Damon, the musician." He grew excited and blurted out, "And that wrinkly old one, dressed like a foreign merchant, that's Themist …" he stopped himself suddenly. Then, from the look of startled surprise on Lysanias' face, realised it was too late. Lysanias knew it was Themistokles, past leader of the radicals and victor of Salamis, who everyone thought was exiled in Persia.

  "But he's under sentence of death!"

  "Yes, so you swear not to tell anyone or you may not be allowed to leave." He looked deadly serious now. "I shouldn’t have told you."

  Lysanias nodded seriously, appreciating the trust placed in him. The guard urged Stephanos forward and he whispered in Perikles' ear. Lysanias heard Stephanos say, "This brother saw and heard them as well." And Perikles' eyes had turned and locked onto his own. He was sure the man recognised him but nothing in the steely gaze betrayed that fact.

  Perikles made Stephanos repeat his information out loud and Lysanias was asked to verify it. Then the group was back into deep discussion, talking low. In the urgency of the moment, they seemed to have forgotten he and Stephanos were present.

  Ephialtes argued for caution. "We mustn't be provocative," he suggested. "If we organise like an army, we only encourage them to do the same and that ends in civil war."

  Themistokles reacted angrily, his forcefulness belying his years. He attacked them for not learning from his experience of allowing the aristocrats enough leeway to undermine him. "If we don't protect ourselves against Kimon's men, we’re done for."

  "I really must protest. This is most melodramatic." Ephialtes was still not persuaded, but he heard Arkhestratos from outside rounding off his speech and rose from his seat. "Time for me to conclude the event," he said. "Perikles knows my views and can speak for me." Lysanias saw now that he was dressed in a costume similar to representations of the god Hephaistos, presumably for his part in the religious ceremony outside.

  The heated debate continued after his departure. Themistokles pushed for striking while citizens were still offended by the Spartan snub of dismissing the Athenian siege force without an explanation before the siege was broken. This prompted Perikles to question Themistokles whether he had anything to do with that. "No, no, purest luck." However, in denying it, he did confide that he had influenced the Corinthian decision to block the return of Kimon’s troops. Response from the younger men was amused, but the older ones were angry that he had gone behind their backs in this way. Their resentment glowed.

  "You would never have agreed in time," he retorted, displaying the arrogance he was credited with in the old days, thought Lysanias. "Let’s hope they can hold them long enough."

  Perikles capped him. "There are rumours Kimon has ridden to Corinth to negotiate their passage, so it may be touch and go."

  Ephialtes’ voice boomed from outside. "Brothers, never doubt, the hammer of Hephaistos will smite the corrupt and decadent rich." "All praise to Hephaistos," came the roar from the crowd. Could that really be Ephialtes who had seemed so docile in discussion?

  Inside the group got down to planning, guided by the generals Myronides and Perikles. How they could strengthen Ephialtes' informal bodyguard, take steps to forestall any attempt at a takeover of key points, organise weapons and use of tools as weapons. Themistokles nodded, evidently pleased to see practical minds at work. Worry at the seriousness of the situation was written on all their faces except Myronides’. An ordinary-looking man, not at all like a general, he nonetheless exuded authority and confidence in his ability to deal with it.

  Perikles suggested a rota system to cover all hours and a way of keeping watch during the nights. They ran through possible alarm signals to alert everyone whenever Kimon’s supporters struck, using factory gate gongs and even kicking household donkeys and dogs to make them bray and bark.

  Caught up in the discussion, Lysanias felt the urge to contribute. "Where I come from, if anyone saw a raiding party approaching, we had to put two fingers in our mouths and whistle like this." And he did it, making everyone jump. Two shorts and a long. All eyes turned on him, registering that he was not a regular party activist. Stephanos jumped in, calming their doubts. "It's all right, comrades, he's a friend of mine. He's sound. Remember, he saved my life, in the square."

  "I can vouch for him too," said Perikles, simply and finally. Lysanias didn’t miss the sudden question in Stephanos’ eyes.

  As they once more ignored him, he realised the strangeness of his situation, in the middle of discussions aimed to stave off a civil war. Then he recalled his real purpose was to find his uncle's murderer and bring him to justice. So close to the shipyard with shipyard workers all around, he couldn’t let this opportunity slip. While Stephanos was pre-occupied, he slipped outside.

  Ephialtes was in full flow and the hold he had over the crowd was obvious, both with his political message and his religious fervour. It was difficult to believe it was the same man. Lysanias found himself getting caught up in the fervour and the chants himself, until, as Ephialtes brought down the hammer on the goat’s head to sacrifice it to the god, the thought
flashed into his head: was that another example of the hammer of Hephaistos striking his enemies, striking the corrupt and decadent rich, like his uncle maybe? He recalled the words of the bathman and shivered that maybe the idea wasn't too far-fetched.

  With the ceremony over, the crowd of workers dispersed and he was able to attach himself to a group going in the direction of the shipyard. Busily chatting about the way things were changing and whether it was likely to come to a fight, they paid him little attention as they walked through the gates to Hermon’s yard. He was in! He could rejoin Stephanos at Aspasia’s later.

  ***

  Sindron's mind kept going back to bubbling, laughing Glykera as they had chatted at midday. It occurred to him that if he had his freedom and enough money to live on, he could buy himself a comfortable woman like Glykera to keep him company and look after him in his declining years. He told himself to stop thinking along those lines, that it only made Phraston's offer more tempting, but it was difficult not to imagine being held by those plump arms, sinking into that ample rosy flesh.

  Sindron was sitting in Lysanias' bedroom, with the bloody scroll laid out in front of him. Much of the writing was obliterated by dark red bloodstains that had soaked deep into the parchment. What was still readable was in an assured hand, in businesslike rather than casual language, clearly an urgent request to attend a meeting. The seal at the bottom, rolled on in black ink, revealed a porpoise riding a wave. It seemed appropriate to a shipbuilder, so it could be Hermon's, but the nautical symbols he recalled seeing most since he arrived were Poseidon and his trident and the sea horse and he wasn't sure which he had seen where. Unless they could discover who owned that seal, possession of the message scroll didn't get them any nearer finding a culprit.

  What about the wax message inviting Lysanias back to Athens? They hadn't looked at that in the light of what they had recently discovered. He took it out from the chest of Lysanias' more personal belongings and opened it out.